My Gym Teacher Is an Alien Overlord (13 page)

“There. So handsome,” said Mom, adjusting my collar for the billionth time. “So grown up.”

“Mommm,” I complained. I was in a suit. Not a space suit, which would have been much more useful, but a two-piece tuxedo from JCPenney.

It was the day of the wedding, Equatorial Guinea's independence—and the invasion of Earth. While the people of a small Central African republic prepared to celebrate the anniversary of their independence from Spain in 1968, and my cousin Jenny did whatever brides do before they walk down the aisle, they had no idea that hidden in orbit above us, alien invaders were making their own preparations.

There was a knock at the door, and Dad strolled into my bedroom. He took one look at me and began to stroke an invisible cat in his arms. I knew exactly what he wanted, but I wasn't in the mood.

“I'm not saying it,” I said, folding my arms.

“Oh, come on,” he said.

I gave in. “All right, all right.” I cleared my throat and said, “Do you expect me to talk?”

Dad gave his invisible cat another stroke and tented one eyebrow. “No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to die.”

“Happy now?” I said.

Dad beamed. “Look at you. Your first tux. I have to take a picture.” He put down the invisible cat, pulled out his compact super-zoom, and began to snap away. “Act natural,” he said, shoving the lens in my face. “Pretend I'm not even here.”

My grumpiness resulted in part from being forced into the suit (not to mention the bow tie and pinchy new shoes), but mostly from my frustrating phone call with Christopher Talbot that morning. He'd given me a cell phone so that we could keep in close communication. I'd been asking my parents for one for ages, but as ever when I asked for anything cool, they ended up giving me shoes. I'd called Christopher Talbot shortly after dawn.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” he'd said groggily.

“It's shortly after dawn,” I'd replied. “Have you figured out how to make the teleporter work yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“But you've had ages!”

“Listen,
matey
, we're talking about reverse-engineering some pretty wild alien technology.”

“But we're running out of time, Christopher Talbot!” I'd worked out precisely how long we had. According to the Overlord, the invasion would commence at prime time. Prime time was when TV networks could expect their biggest audiences, and so that's when they broadcast their best shows. Which obviously meant
Doctor Who
. So that meant the invasion would start at 7:30 p.m.

“How long until we're operational?” I'd asked. “Realistically, if we're going to have enough time to stop the aliens, we have to get aboard the mother ship before the hors d'oeuvres.”

“Don't you worry,” he'd said. “I'll be ready.”

“I hope so. We're all counting on you.” I'd thought about that for a moment. “The whole world's counting on you.”

“Yes, it is,” mused Christopher Talbot, “isn't it?” And he'd hung up the phone.

Since it was going to be tricky for me to slip away from the wedding venue, the plan was for Christopher Talbot to rendezvous with me at the golf club with the teleporter. But would he be ready and waiting in the men's locker room with a fully working device? He'd better be, since we didn't have a backup plan for boarding the mother ship.

To my relief, Dad put away his camera. “Finally,” I said. “So are we done here?”

“Not quite,” he said. “Your outfit is missing one important detail. Here.” He delved into a pocket of his own suit. “I have something for you.”

I was hoping he'd continue the James Bond theme. “Is it a fountain pen with a concealed grappling hook?”

“No, son, it's—”

“An underwater jetpack?”

“Yes, Luke, that's what's in my pocket. An underwater jetpack.”

Dad opened his hand to reveal a pair of silver cuff links, one shaped like Superman's shield, the other Batman's bat sign.

“Allow me,” he said, reaching for my shirt cuff. “These things are tricky to put on by yourself.” He slotted them in place one after the other.

“They're engraved,” said Mom.

In the center of the Superman cuff link were the words “Here I Come . . .” I twisted my other wrist so that I could read what was on the bat sign: “. . . to Save the Day.” I said thank you and was about to add that they were cool when Dad called them “snazzy,” and that was the end of that.

Mom and Dad left to go and finish their own preparations. Meanwhile, I was under strict instructions to stay away from anything that might spill, splash, or otherwise mark my new clothes. I wasn't sure whether that included Zack and his projectile snot, but I decided to risk it. I had to speak to my brother.

Zack was asleep, his eyes gummed shut, his breath gurgling like a coffeemaker. I knew Mom had said he needed plenty of rest, but this was important. I shook him by the shoulder.

His eyes flicked open, and he shot up into a sitting position. “
X
-squared plus
y
-squared equals
p
!”

Typical. He even dreamed math. He squinted at me and grunted his displeasure. “What do
you
want?” he said, convulsed by a series of rapid-fire sneezes.

“Dad says Flash Gordon didn't have superpowers,” I said, passing him the box of tissues, “but he saved the world, thanks to a good education and the help of his friends. Christopher Talbot isn't my friend, but he definitely is a mad scientist; Lara isn't Prince of the Hawkmen, but she is kind of Princess of Pigeons; and Serge has low blood sugar, which can make him faint, though not as much as Dale Arden.”

Zack screwed up his face in an expression of bafflement. “What are you talking about?”

“I know you don't believe me about the alien invaders,” I went on, “but it's true. And if we fail our mission, then it's going to be up to you, Zack. Flu or not, the world will need you. Oh, and if you happen to get your strength back in the next few hours, the mother ship is in orbit right above the town. You can't miss it. It looks like our school.”

I could tell that he didn't buy a word of what I was saying. I turned to leave, and as I reached the door, a thought struck me. If things did go badly, then this might be my last conversation with my big brother. He was still sitting up, watching me with the same mystified expression. “I just want to say, you've turned into a good superhero, Zack. I mean, obviously you're no Superman or Batman. But I'd rate you as a solid Aquaman.”

“Thanks?” said Zack.

I left him to bask in my excessive praise and returned to my bedroom. I fired off a text to Christopher Talbot, requesting an update on the teleporter's readiness. As I waited for a reply, Mom popped her head in the door. “Time to go. And feel free to tell me how lovely and elegant I look in my dress.”

“Do I have to?”

Five minutes later the three of us jumped in the car and headed off along Moore Street. We hadn't gone far when we were stopped by a traffic jam. It looked like all the people had left their vehicles.

“What's going on?” said Dad.

“Maybe there's been an accident,” I said, lowering my window and sticking my head out.

Everyone was looking up. I followed their gaze, and stifled a gasp.

“What on earth is that?” said Mom.

Ranged across the dreary afternoon sky in flaming letters a hundred feet tall were the words
COMING SOON
.

As we watched, the phrase faded out, to be replaced by a series of short scenes: a heat ray melting a city, hundreds of alien strike fighters spilling out of the belly of a mother ship; alien flags being raised over blasted state buildings. Each scene was accompanied by the same vibrating musical note, which sounded like
BRAAAM!

The last scene faded, and the “Coming Soon” banner reappeared. Beneath it materialized the number
3:00
, in equally giant burning numerals.

As I watched, the number changed.

2:59

The countdown had begun.

“Ah,” said Dad, climbing back into the car. “Must be for the new episode of
Doctor Who
.” He glanced at his watch and sighed. “We'll still be at the wedding. Don't worry, Luke, I TiVo'd it.”

I mumbled thanks. But of course I knew it wasn't for
Doctor Who
at all. Those were clips from previous seasons of
The Show
.

It was a trailer for the end of the world.

When we pulled into the golf club's parking lot fifteen minutes later, there was still no reply from Christopher Talbot. I jumped out of the car. The countdown burned far above me, visible for miles around. The trailer seemed to be on a loop, repeating every few minutes. Tearing my eyes away, I followed my mom and dad inside. A sign in the tartan-carpeted entrance hall welcomed guests to the wedding of Ms. Jenny Simpson and Mr. Marvin Malik.

“Never thought I'd see the day,” muttered Mom.

My cousin Jenny and Marvin had been together for what seemed like forever, but always insisted it would be the end of the world before they got married. So the day after Earth narrowly missed extinction by the Nemesis asteroid, they booked the golf club. It struck me that if my mission failed, the end of the world might beat them to it this time.

I was desperate to get on with things, especially now that the aliens were broadcasting our forthcoming destruction. However, S.C.A.R.F. was firmly earthbound until Christopher Talbot sent me the signal.

In the meantime Mom made me mingle. My grandparents were at the wedding, which meant I had to suffer yet more endless cooing over my outfit. The only thing more annoying than all the attention was the number of times people asked me about Zack and said what a shame it was he couldn't be there. I let Grandma Maureen squeeze my cheek and call me her “scrumptious pumpkin” one last time, and then gave the oldies the slip. I headed off to find Serge.

I'd been allowed to bring one guest, so obviously I'd chosen my best friend. His
maman
permitting, he'd be waiting outside. As I approached the double doors, I spotted a girl in a dress standing next to a tall vase of flowers. I'd almost missed her, since the pattern on her dress blended perfectly with the pale pink flowers.

It was Lara. Until that moment I'd only ever seen her in jeans, a really bad Catwoman outfit, and her Dark Flutter costume. “You're wearing a dress,” I said, unable to hide my surprise.

She wrinkled her nose. “Great eye, Sherlock.”

I couldn't take my eyes off her. During one of Dad's previous YouTube binges, he had shown me a series of old TV commercials featuring monkeys wearing human clothes. Not that Lara reminded me of a monkey in a dress—just that seeing her in one was at least as startling.

“
Bonjour, mes amis,
” said Serge, sauntering up. He was also in a suit, but judging by how comfortable he looked, his didn't itch the way mine did. His bow tie hung loosely untied around his neck, but instead of appearing untidy, it made him seem relaxed and confident. My hand went to my own bow tie. It was a clip-on.

“Did you observe the giant burning countdown in the clouds?” he said.

“Kind of difficult to miss,” said Lara.

“And yet still not as dazzling as you,” said Serge.

“
Merci
, Serge,” said Lara. “And you look good too. Very sharp.”

“Ah, this old thing?” said Serge, smoothing the front of his jacket.

I'd never been to any occasion that required dressing up like this. Until today, I'd been to more alien mother ships than weddings.

Lara turned to me. “Both of you look very handsome.”

I felt my cheeks flush, and my shirt collar was suddenly as tight as a noose. “Monkeys in dresses,” I blurted.

The other two studied me with deep puzzlement.

“Lara, what are you doing here?” I said, attempting to cover my outburst. “You should be in the men's locker room.”

She scowled. “Yes, Luke, I am well aware that I was not officially invited to the wedding.”

Something told me to change the subject. “Where's your mole?” I asked.

Lara unclipped the clasp of a tiny handbag, and a pink, pimply snout poked through the gap. “Gentlemen,” she said, “meet . . . the Wraith.”

The mole squeaked. “He wants to know which one is Star Guy,” Lara translated. “I've told him a million times that Star Guy's not coming.” With that she uttered a series of squeaks of her own, which I guessed explained this to the mole for the millionth and one time.

All everyone wants is to meet Star Guy. Even underground mammals. It's highly irritating.

As Lara conversed with her mole, Serge took me aside and in a whisper said, “I sense some tension between you and Lara. What is going on?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “She
does
keep trying to get me alone to tell me something important. Only me—she doesn't want to speak to anyone else.”

Serge raised an eyebrow.

“What d'you think that's about?” I said.

“It is perfectly clear to me,
mon ami
.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “She has fallen for your charms.”

My throat went dry. I looked across at Lara, chirping away at the Wraith. During the Nemesis adventure, I'd had to pretend she and I were going out, but that was purely for operational reasons. This was different. This was terrible. She wanted to be my girlfriend.

“Luke, are you feeling all right?” she said, glancing up.

“Ummm, finethankyouverymuch.” My voice came out as squeaky as the Wraith's. I buried my head in my phone again. “Need to check my messages.” Still nothing from Christopher Talbot. “He'll come through,” I said, although even I was starting to wonder if he could make the alien teleporter work in time.

A voice piped up from behind me. “Well, if it isn't
Puke
Skywalker.”

I spun around to see Josh Khan standing there in a suit two sizes too big for him. His bulky shoulders heaved with laughter. “Now
that's
funny.”

“What are you doing here?” I stuttered.

Josh's index finger idled at the entrance to one nostril. “Hmm?”

“Why are you at my cousin's wedding?” I said.

“
Your
cousin?” said Josh. “Uh-uh, it's
my
cousin who's getting married.” He stared hard, daring me to object.

“Oh, for goodness' sake,” said Lara. “Obviously, your cousins are marrying
each other
.”

Josh's glower gave way to a look of bored comprehension. Then he noticed Serge. “Steve! Steve-o! Steve-a-matic!” He clapped Serge several times on the back. “What are you doing here with this loser?” He thumbed at me.

I watched in outraged silence. I'd never met Josh at Jenny and Marvin's house, so that meant he couldn't be a close relative. However, that didn't change the inescapable fact. I waved a finger back and forth between us. “Does that mean we'll be . . . related?”

A terrible screeching filled the room. I clamped my hands over my ears. The sound wasn't just in the room; it was everywhere. I motioned to the others, and we went outside onto the putting green. It was as if someone was trying to tune the loudest radio in the galaxy. Finally, they landed on the station they were searching for, and a tune blasted out of the sky.

I recognized it instantly. “That's the Overlord's theme from
Puny Earthlings!
”

The tune ended, and the voice of the Alien Overlord boomed out in ultrahigh-fidelity You Are Surrounded Sound™.

“People of Earth, we come in peace.”

There was a distant echo, as if her voice had traveled a long way, and I realized that the Overlord must be broadcasting to the whole planet. Right now the president having a hamburger in the White House would be listening, wondering what was going on. My mom and dad and everyone at my cousin Jenny's wedding had come outside and were listening too.

The Overlord chuckled. “Sorry, earthlings. We
never
come in peace. Prepare to
faint
at the terrifying mother ship hurtling toward you on an unstoppable path,
dread
the technologically superior fighter-bombers about to rain fiery doom on your population centers,
scream
at the simultaneous ground assault by an alien army wielding weaponry so far beyond your own it's like playing Ray-Guns versus Sticks.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, like a late-night radio DJ. “It's the end of civilization as you know it.”

“Must be some episode of
Doctor Who
,” muttered Dad.

“What did you say?” asked Lara.

I shrugged. “I didn't say anything.”

“Huh. Sounded like
beep-beep
.”

Could it be? With a shaking hand I lifted my phone to check the display. There was a text message alert. I clicked on the envelope to see the words I'd been waiting for:
READY 2 BEAM UP.

I turned to the others. “Mission is a go. We are green for teleportation.”